


Etemenanki

by esmerod



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic (Merlin), Canon Era, Captive Merlin, Child Abuse, Childhood Friends, Corporal Punishment, Isolation, M/M, Merlin Bingo, Molestation, Rating May Change, Reading, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Education, Touch-Starved, Warnings May Change, locked in a tower, naughty books
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:20:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29202756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esmerod/pseuds/esmerod
Summary: Merlin is taken as a child and brought to Camelot where he's locked up in a tower. He meets the prince, and destiny takes its inevitable course, as it always does.Merlin Bingo prompts:Chapter 1 - #A1 Reading togetherChapter 2 - #G4 Sensory deprivationChapter 3 - #G1 Knife wounds
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 29
Kudos: 107
Collections: Merlin Bingo





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been toying with the idea of writing a Merlin-in-a-tower story for quite a while now. It was already at the back of my head while working on my last big Merlin fic [The Wolf at your Door](https://archiveofourown.org/works/982603/chapters/1935412), but with that fic taking up so much of my energies, the tower story got shelved indefinitely. However, as I'm participating in this year's Merlin Bingo, I was presented with the wonderful opportunity to get back to that idea and include some of the bingo prompts in individual chapters of this new fic.
> 
> The first prompt: #A1 "Reading together"

He doesn't understand what's happening when they come and take him. He's only ten years old, or at least that's what the soldiers mutter when they tear him roughly from his mother's arms and drag him away. Age has never been a particularly important thing in Ealdor, you're either a child or an adult, but apparently it's important where he's going now.

They put him in a wooden cage lined with straw. He sticks his scrawny little arms through the bars and calls for Hunith. The soldiers don't let her near him though and her agonized wailing is the last thing he hears before the cart with his cage slowly starts rolling away from his home and toward an unknown future.

The castle is big and white, and his eyes widen in awe when he sees it for the first time. But the people milling around the streets don't seem as impressed with it as he is, instead they whisper and point at his cart, their looks full of suspicion and hatred. He doesn't understand.

He's thrown into a tower to the castle's east side, and when he's finally left alone in the cold, round room, he pulls his knees to his chest and starts crying. It's the first time his tears flow freely since he was taken from his mother. His anguished sobs echo off the bare walls and his small body is shaken by tremors. He hopes someone will come for him.

Time passes and nobody comes. He gets used to the cold circular room even though he hates it. They bring him food twice a day, but nobody lingers, nobody talks to him. He cries almost every day now.   
The only upside is a small narrow window that leads to the courtyard. He spends his days looking out of it and observing the proceedings below. There are knights training, doing drills with swords and following angrily shouted commands. There is a certain grace to their repetitive movements and he kind of enjoys watching them. But what fascinates him the most is the short figure of a boy clad in red standing in the first row. He is younger than the rest of them and clearly struggles to keep up. Still, he tries, relentless and stubborn in getting the movements right and being able to hold his own against the taller men. The instructor isn't quite as harsh with the red boy as with the rest, and the boy seems to resent that. Every once in a while, he throws his sword down in a frustrated huff and storms off. Normally that leaves the rest of the men snickering and shaking their heads. They don't take the boy all that seriously.

It's a plight he can sympathize with, so, one day, when the red boy is the only one left, he takes all the courage he has and calls down to the courtyard. "Hello," he says and waves through the narrow slit of his window. The boy pricks up his ears, his gaze searching for the source of the greeting and it takes him a moment to spot him.

"You are getting better," he says and hopes encouragement is what the red boy wants to hear. He'd certainly like it if he were in the boy's position, but it seems to be the wrong thing to say because the boy's face distorts into grimace and he barks, "don't talk to me, sorcerer!"

He feels devastated afterwards and retreats into the interior of his cell. He decides he won't watch the knights anymore.

He doesn't stick to his resolution; or at least not for long. It's sad but there is nothing else to do, and watching the outside world brings him a bit of solace. So he sits by the window and observes how the red boy practices. He doesn't make an attempt to talk to him again though. That's why it comes as a bit of a surprise when one day the boy is the last one left again and instead of stoically practicing his drills, his body is turned towards the tower and he's looking at the window.

"You there," the red boy calls up. "What's your name?"

The question shakes him a little. In all the time since he's been brought here, nobody has ever asked his name. It leaves him feeling a bit giddy.

"Merlin," he calls down.

The red boy nods, more to himself, then answers, "I'm prince Arthur."

*

After that, things change a little. The prince occasionally comes to his window and tries to strike up a conversation, but it's difficult. They must make sure they're not overheard but considering Merlin's window is ten meters above ground and they have to shout to understand each other, it's a doomed endeavour from the very beginning. The strict-looking man in a robe who drags Arthur away comes as no surprise to Merlin, but the prince still exclaims in indignation, declaring his intention to inform his father about the disrespect he suffered here. It makes Merlin wonder who the prince's father is. Logically it should be the king, he knows as much, but he has never really seen or heard of any king, so he decides to ask Arthur the next time he sees him.

That next time takes pretty long to come though. Merlin worries when Arthur doesn't return the next day, or the day after that, and fears he has been punished. In the darker recesses of his mind, he imagines that the prince has been locked up too, and he feels dread at being responsible for such a horrible fate.

His fears are dispelled when one evening he hears a soft knock on his cell door. It's a rather weird thing and has him startle. Nobody ever knocks on his door, so he moves carefully and pushes his ear against the heavy wood. "Who's there?" he asks and waits with bated breath.

"It's Arthur," comes the muted answer. Merlin recoils a little before his eyes widen with joy.  
  
"Arthur!" he cries and pushes his whole body against the door as if that could somehow bring him closer to the other boy. "What are you doing here?" He feels elated. He and Arthur have never been in such proximity, and despite the fact that there's still a thick barrier between them, his heart swells with something he can't quite name.

"Shhhhh," comes from the other side. Merlin nods eagerly, forgetting that Arthur can't see it.   
  
"They wouldn't let me come to your window anymore, so I thought I'd come to your door instead." Something in Arthur's voice suggests a smug grin, it has Merlin mirror the sentiment.

"How did you sneak in?"

"It wasn't hard," Arthur says and sounds vaguely disappointed. "There are no guards at the tower's entrance, only the occasional patrol. So I just had to wait until they'd passed." After a pause he adds, "They can't think you're very dangerous."

That gets Merlin's attention. "Why would they think I'm dangerous." It seriously confuses him.  
  
"Well," Arthur hesitates, "you're a sorcerer, aren't you? So, everybody thinks you're dangerous."

Merlin cocks his head and mulls these words over. He knows he's locked up here because of what he did in Ealdor, but he's never really heard it said out loud. To be considered dangerous really is an unsettling idea and has Merlin run his hands up and down his upper arms.

"Merlin?" Arthur sounds uncertain. "You _are_ a sorcerer, aren't you?"

Merlin nods and then remembers that the other boy can't see him. "Yes, I think so."

"You think so?" Arthur doesn't sound convinced. "Shouldn’t you know for sure?"

"Well, I can do things, but nobody ever explained them to me." He feels weirdly defensive about that statement and wraps his arms around himself. He's never had to explain his powers to anyone before.

There's a noise and then the hatch on his door is opened. Merlin sees a shock of blond hair but Arthur's too short to peek it inside the cell. He gets up anyway and tries to stick his hand through the opened hole. It's a reckless action and the last time he did that a guard slammed the hatch shut so forcefully he could barely move his fingers for a week, but Merlin's convinced Arthur won't do that to him.

He is confirmed in his trust because only a moment later he can feel a warm, slightly moist hand touching his own. He sighs a little. It feels so good to touch someone again after months of being totally isolated. He wiggles his fingers and giggles a little when he feels Arthur intertwining them with his own.

"What can you do?" Arthur asks. His voice is clearer now the hatch has been opened.

Merlin thinks about it. "Sometimes I can make things float, but it doesn't always work the way I want it to."

"Hmm," Arthur's grip on his hand slackens and Merlin's feels a surge of panic coursing through his veins. Desperately he grasps for the other boy's hand. "I can show you something if you want," he suggests pleadingly. But it doesn't have the desired effect, instead Arthur starts peeling the grabby fingers off him and Merlin hears him stepping away from the door.

"I should leave before the patrol returns."

Merlin can feel his heart breaking when the prince retreats.

*

Arthur returns a few days later. Like the first time he knocks softly on the door but this time he opens the hatch immediately. Merlin still can't see him, but the bobbing blond head has a reassuring effect and makes him go over there. He sinks to his knees and leans his head against to wood. Neither of them speaks but he can hear Arthur breathing on the other side.

"So," the prince begins, "how have you been?" He sounds sheepish, and Merlin thinks that he has every reason to, after all it is a rather silly question.

Still, he indulges the prince. "The same as always."

Arthur seems to ponder that statement. "Is that good or bad?"

That in return makes Merlin sit up a bit straighter. He hasn't really thought about that question in a while, or rather, he's been purposefully avoiding it because it makes him cry a lot. He takes a deep breath and almost on command he can feel his throat constrict. His eyes dart to the window and he tells himself that he's fine. He won't cry in front of Arthur. But his voice still sounds a bit croakier than he'd like when he answers, "Nobody talks to me and I miss my Mum. But I get more food than I ever did back home, so it's not all bad."

Arthur doesn't say anything to that, Merlin can hear him shift from one foot to the other though. Cautiously he asks, "Arthur?"

The other boy harrumphs. "I miss my Mum too."

Merlin furrows his brow at the comment and wonders if Arthur was taken from his mother too, but that doesn't make a lot of sense. He's a prince after all, so it must be something else. Probably his mother died. Yes, that seems more likely, after all, people die all the time, even he knows that. He stands up and puts his hands against the door. He still can't see Arthur, but he imagines the other boy must be in a similar position.

"What about your father?" he asks.

"What about him?" Arthur's voice is bordering on defensive. "He's as fine as can be."

"He's the king, isn't he?"

"Obviously." The 'duh' is implied, but it's clear that the prince doesn't understand how exciting and unusual the prospect of meeting royalty is to a peasant like Merlin.

"What is he like?"

"What kind of question is that?" Arthur sounds seriously confused now. "He's a king, that's what he's like."

"That's not what I meant." Merlin has difficulties putting his thoughts into words. "What kind of person is he? What is important to him? How does he…" he sighs and looks at the window again. "How does he treat people?"

"Oh, he's the best king there has ever been in Camelot." The explanation clearly makes Arthur relax a bit, and there is something proud in the description of his father when he says, "He makes sure everybody is safe and fights against enemy invasions and sorcerers. There even is a story that he defeated a dragon once. He is very strong."

Merlin listens closely, but something doesn’t sit quite right with him. "Why does he fight against sorcerers?" It's an honest question, he really doesn't know.

"Because magic is evil, obviously." Arthur states it like a fact, and Merlin can feel a weird notion of displeasure spreading through his chest.

"I don't think that's true."

*

After their little disagreement, it takes a few days until Arthur is amenable enough to return to his cell door. They ignore the fact that they obviously don't see eye-to-eye on the topic of magic, but it doesn't keep them from talking about everything else.

"What do you do the whole day?" Arthur asks.

Merlin snorts at the question. Sometimes the prince really has no idea, but he won't hold it against him. "I look out of the window, watch the knights, and who enters and comes out of the castle. Sometimes birds come up here and sit on the ledge."

"That sounds kind of boring. What else?"

Merlin hesitates because Arthur really doesn't seem to realize. "Nothing else," he admits in a small voice. On the other side of the door, he can hear Arthur getting up.

"Are you serious? Don't you have… I don't know… any books to read? Or something like that?" The urgent tone in his voice makes Merlin wonder why the idea of having nothing to occupy him other than the prince's occasional visits seems so upsetting to the latter.

"No," he says, before he adds more like an afterthought, "I wouldn’t be able to read them anyway."

"You can't read?" Arthur sounds positively scandalized now, and Merlin starts chuckling. The idea of anyone in Ealdor being able to read is pretty hilarious. Besides, it feels good to be laughing after such a long time of having no reason to. His giggles swell to bellows of laughter and eventually he finds himself on the floor holding his belly and tears streaming down his cheeks.

Arthur retorts something on the other side of the door but Merlin can't make it out. He only notices the sound of footsteps stomping off.

*

When Arthur returns the next time, there's no knock. Merlin hears the hatch being opened but instead of a greeting he sees something big and heavy that it is slotted against it and the weird bobbing movement implies that Arthur trying to push it through the narrow opening. Merlin can see it's a pointless effort, the – whatever it is– clearly too big for the hatch, but he still tries to support Arthur by pulling from his side.

Eventually the prince has to give up and sinks to the ground with a defeated sigh. "I really thought it'd fit," he mutters.

Merlin's sympathetic, he's sure he would have enjoyed whatever Arthur was trying to give him. "What is it?" he asks instead.

"How, _what is it?_ A book, obviously, you dummy," Arthur sounds annoyed, but by now Merlin knows it's probably more directed at himself for having failed in his plan. "It's one thing not being able to read but don't you know what a book looks like?"

"Of course, I know what a book looks like." Despite his awareness of Arthur's easily bruised ego, Merlin feels like pouting at the comment. "But nobody would've been able to tell that from here."  
He crosses his arms in front of his chest and slides down the door. He'd still have liked a book.

"I was going to teach you how to read it," Arthur says somewhat wistfully.

Merlin looks back up to the hatch. "Oh?" The prospect of reading is quite exciting. He swallows and asks tentatively, "is it hard? Reading, I mean."

"Not really. Once you have the basics down, you just need to be able to identify the hard words."

Merlin nods but can't imagine what that means. Are there words that are harder than others? They all seem the same to him. Sure, occasionally he comes across a few he doesn't know, then he'll just asks what they mean and that's it. But, he supposes, he'll find out if Arthur finds another way to give him a book.

"What is the book you brought about? Are you going to read it to me now I can't have a look at it myself?" Merlin feels hopeful, hearing a story would be nice. His mother used to tell him stories.

Arthur clears his throat. Normally that's a sign he's somehow embarrassed. "It's a kids' story," he says for an explanation, and Merlin wonders what's embarrassing about that. Still, he can hear the soft rustle of the book pages. It's an intriguing and foreign thing, and Merlin presses his ear closer against the wood.

_"Once upon a time,"_ Arthur starts reading and his voice takes on a different timbre. Merlin really likes it. _"There was a beautiful princess. She lived in a big castle with her father, the king. They had many servants and the people loved them."_

Merlin giggles. Oh, he can imagine the big castle, but the princess is another thing. Maybe, if he doesn't tell Arthur, he can substitute the princess with a prince.

"Shhh, do you want to hear the story or not?"

"Yes yes, sorry! Please go on."

Arthur exhales with a put-on sigh but continues, " _One day, however, the king received a message from a foreign ruler who had taken an interest in his daughter and wanted to marry her. The king didn't agree to the proposal because the foreign ruler was a sorcerer and had a bad reputation. So he rejected the offer."_

Uh, Merlin's not so sure anymore he likes the story, but he doesn't want to interrupt again.

_"The foreign ruler, offended by the king's answer, vowed to take revenge and abducted the beautiful princess. He locked her up in a tall tower that was cursed and had neither exit nor entrance. So the princess was all alone there, calling for rescue from the one little window she had, day in and day out."_

At this point Arthur stops, probably aware that the story has taken a turn a bit too anchored in real life. The pages rustle. "Maybe this isn't a good story to read together." The book is slammed shut and Arthur scrambles to his feet.

"No, Arthur, please go on reading!" Merlin begs. He has sprung to his feet too and doesn't really know why he even wants to hear the rest of this stupid story, but it seems important that Arthur doesn't retreat. He yearns for company and entertainment, any kind of entertainment really.

"Are you sure about that?" There is doubt in the prince's voice.

Merlin hastens to reassure him, "Yes! Go on reading, please."

Arthur huffs and there's probably some headshaking involved that Merlin can't see. Eventually though, he can hear the prince sit down again and the promising rustling of the pages announces the continuation of the story.

_"Many days and nights passed until finally a party of knights happened upon the tower. They heard the princess' woeful pleas, but only the bravest of them dared to climb the tower. When he reached the princess' prison…"_

Footsteps are approaching, they can both hear them.

Panicking Arthur slams the book shut again and whispers a harried, "I'll read you the rest another time." Then he's off, and Merlin is left to question if he managed to get away without being spotted by the patrol. It's not a good feeling at all. He wrings his hands and hopes for the best.

*

It takes quite a long time for Arthur to turn up at his door again; or maybe it just feels longer because Merlin has been worrying constantly since the hasty departure that interrupted their story. But when the knock finally comes and the hatch is opened, the boy revealed behind it is in surprisingly high spirits. Merlin greets him in his usual friendly manner but remains somewhat sceptical about what Arthur is planning now.

A piece of parchment is slid through the opening and Merlin takes it. He stares at the letters and numbers on it and doesn't understand. His puzzled gaze returns to the hatch where he can still only see the top of Arthur's head – he might be imagining things, but it almost seems as if there's more of it than before.

"What is this?" he asks. "I thought you were going to read me the rest of the story."

Arthur scoffs. "The story's dumb. I thought it was better if I taught you to read instead, so you can just read books on your own."

Merlin wrinkles his forehead and remains doubtful. Not about Arthur's honest intention to teach him, just whether he's actually capable of doing so. After all, normal people have tutors for stuff like that. And tutors are old and grey, and often a bit boring - while Arthur is pretty much the opposite of all these things. Merlin's eyes wander back to the parchment in his hands.

"In the first row you have all twenty-six letters of the alphabet, in upper and lower case. I put quite a bit of effort into writing neatly so it would be easier for you to decipher. Writing neatly is pretty hard, by the way," Arthur admits, and through the hatch Merlin can see a hand scratching his blond scalp.

"The first one is an A…"

Arthur's explanation is confusing and disjointed. Merlin does his best to follow along with the letters in upper and lower case, but he loses track somewhere around G, which in turn frustrates Arthur to no end. So they grouse and whine at each other, each criticising the other's limitations, but eventually make it to Z. The whole ordeal leaves Merlin feeling quite exhausted, but Arthur goes even further by insisting he memorize the whole thing until their next session. It seems a bit extreme in Merlin's humble opinion and he rather feels like throwing the stupid parchment in a corner and never looking at it again.

But in the end, there is nothing but time here in his tower, so he starts memorizing the letters even though he doesn’t quite see the point of doing so. Telling G and J apart gives him trouble, and the connection between U, V and W is just plain weird. His fingers trace the letters' outlines, and he imagines reproducing them with a quill. Arthur hasn't bothered to bring him any writing utensils yet, but Merlin knows that writing normally goes along with reading. And despite Arthur's somewhat questionable qualities as a tutor, Merlin is truly happy that the prince took it upon himself to educate him.

It is a weird thing they have, this friendship. Merlin realizes that and often wonders why Arthur goes through the trouble of sneaking into the tower and doing all these things for him, even though he's clearly not supposed to socialize with sorcerers.

Maybe he doesn't have a lot of friends his age, a little voice at the back of his head supplies. And it's true, Merlin has never seen Arthur with any other kids. All the knights he trains with are far older. So maybe Merlin really is his only option. The voice whispers that it hopes it stays that way.

Arthur doesn't come back in over a week and Merlin starts getting worried. He normally doesn't stay away that long, not even after their disagreements. The old fear of Arthur having been discovered and punished for his association with Merlin returns, and he feels horribly guilty for his selfish desire to be Arthur's only friend. The prince would certainly be better off if he didn't have to endanger himself by sneaking into the tower.

It's the first time in a long while that he wraps his arms around his knees and cries bitterly. That's how Arthur finds him when he finally appears at his door again. "What is wrong?" he asks, alarmed by the sounds of Merlin's sobbing. "Did anyone hurt you? I swear…" the rest of the sentence is lost because Merlin storms over there and immediately thrusts his hand through the hatch, desperately grabbing for Arthur.

"You are fine," he breathes in relief, his cheeks still wet from all the shed tears.

Arthur seems rather startled by the reaction but takes the other boy's hand and squeezes it reassuringly. "Yes, I'm fine, but why are you crying?"

Merlin sniffs and wipes his face with his free hand. "I was worried about you when you stayed away for so long."

Arthur grumbles something unintelligible but then, somewhat louder, says, "I was busy. My father has taken in a ward." For whatever reason the admission seems to make him uncomfortable because the pressure around Merlin's hand changes. Merlin decides not to comment on that and to focus and the really important question instead.

"What's a ward?" He really doesn't know the word, so his interest is sincere.

Arthur grumbles again in response and tries to free himself from Merlin's grip. It's not all that well-received but eventually Merlin has to concede and pull his hand back into the cell.

"A ward is a child that you take in and protect, it's a bit like adoption."

_Adoption_ , now that's a word Merlin understands. He wipes his face again just to make sure it's entirely tear free. He's not all that familiar with the concept of irony yet, but he realises that with Arthur potentially having another child his age around, the thing Merlin absolutely didn't want to happen just came true. "Does that mean you have a new brother?"

Arthur makes an indignant sound. "It's not a boy! And no, we're not like siblings, she's just here. And I don't like her."

He hears the rustling of clothes and imagines Arthur crossing his arms in front of his chest, pouting. "So, it's a girl?" Merlin weighs his options. Somehow the prospect of Arthur having a girl around doesn't seem quite as bad as a boy. Boys and girls don't play together, do they? They didn't in Ealdor, but then, there was only ever one girl in Ealdor and she was about five years older than Merlin, so maybe that isn't best example of how boys and girls act with each other.

"Obviously." The accompanying eyeroll can practically be heard. Merlin doesn't take it personally.

"And how is she?

"Bossy," Arthur complains. "But I don't want to talk about her. I've seen enough of her for a lifetime. Father made me show her around, it was so annoying." He stomps his foot, then there's more rustling and suddenly a whole bundle of sheets is shoved through the hatch. Merlin can't catch them all in time, but he realises that Arthur apparently plans to continue their reading lessons. It fills his heart with giddy joy, only to remember a moment later that he hasn't practiced the alphabet during his time of unfounded concern for Arthur's whereabouts and forgotten pretty much everything. He sucks in some air through his teeth. The prince won't like it.

Consequently, their progress is sluggish. In the end though Merlin succeeds at spelling out his name on one of the parchments, with Arthur's rather significant help. Still, he feels quite accomplished and stares at the scrawly letters with fondness.

M E R L I N.

It looks pretty nice and he decides he likes his name in written form. And it doesn't even have any of the weird letters in it, which makes it even better.

"Show me," Arthur demands through the hatch, in full teacher mode now.

Merlin takes the sheet and presses it to his chest before he takes a deep breath and hands it over to Arthur. He waits for the prince's judgement.

"Your handwriting needs improvement, but I guess it's ok because you're not very practiced yet."

There's scribbling and then Arthur pushes the parchment back through hatch at Merlin. Underneath his name he can see another word. He studies it intently.

"Read it," Arthur commands.

"A…" his mouth forms the sounds carefully, "Ar… t," his eyes flitting between the letters, trying to make sense of them. "Art… hur, Arthur!" he exclaims and is overjoyed by his success.

He hears Arthur chuckle. "Well done."

Merlin preens.

They exchange a few more words and decipher them together. He's thrilled by every new word he manages to piece together, but there are a few that are quite strange, completely outlandish to be precise. A very good example of this is Q U E U E. He just doesn't get this word, and even Arthur can't explain why it its spelled the way it is. The prince eventually settles on a rather unsatisfying "that's just the rules." It has Merlin turn his mouth up in distaste and silently vowing to never use this blasted _queue_.

They go on practising some more until their lesson comes to an abrupt end with the sound of the guards approaching. Arthur hastens to pack all the loose sheets and, in his urgency, drops a few of them. That costs him several precious seconds of scrambling around to get then, until it's too late.

The guards are there, and they both know that they are in real trouble now.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second prompt: #G4 "Sensory Deprivation"  
> -> not in any good way though
> 
> Warning: There is a scene in which an adult inappropriately touches a child, and while this touching does not include the genital or any other more sexually charged area, I'd like to give people who feel potentially triggered by that the possibility to skip it.   
> You can leave out the part starting at "That's why it comes as a surprise when one day Osgood places one of his spindly hands on Merlin's shoulder." And get back in at "It's dark, so dark."

He's bored, so bored. Master Osgood paces the room in never-ending circles, monologuing away while Merlin fights against his heavy eyelids that are threatening to fall shut at any moment. He takes a deep breath and suppresses a yawn. Master Osgood gives him a dirty look but apart from that doesn't seem inclined to interrupt his iteration of Camelot's oh so glorious history.

"You see, young sorcerer, that's how our great king Uther succeeded at defeating the –"

Merlin zones out again. In the last one and a half years, he's heard so many stories of victorious battles against evil sorcerers he's really fed up with them by now. Apart from the obvious prejudice against magic and what Osgood calls "his people", the tutor has such an incredibly dull style of narration, it would make even the most devoted of King Uther's supporters fall asleep. He yawns.

The loud crack of a ruler landing on Merlin's table right in front of his hands makes the boy snap back to attention. He shoots the tutor an innocent look that doesn't convince anyone. Osgood bends down so that he's on eye-level with his pupil. "You're such an unruly child," he whispers threateningly. "Here you are, afforded the great opportunity of an education despite your shortcomings and you treat it with such contempt."

With _shortcomings_ Osgood means having magic, and back in the early days Merlin made the mistake of speaking out against these unfair remarks, but he has since then learnt that it won't earn him anything but some rather painful strokes on the insides of his hands with that blasted ruler. So nowadays he just shuts up. It doesn't make the lessons any better though.

"I'm sorry," he mutters.

The tutor nods, apparently satisfied with the token apology and gets on with Camelot's super boring exploits. Merlin let's his gaze wander to a stack of books that is propped against the cell wall next to the door. The uppermost book is new, he hasn't read it yet and he's really looking forward to getting his hands on it. Since Arthur was caught almost two years ago, a lot has changed. He's obviously still locked up in a tower, but he's not completely neglected anymore. His thoughts stray back to the events…

*

The first, and rather obvious, consequence of them having been found out is that the prince doesn't come to visit anymore; the second is the posting of two guards at his door. Merlin doesn't take it well. He's so worried for Arthur, but his repeated inquiries about the prince's wellbeing fall on deaf ears, so eventually he falls silent too. He falls so silent that he stops eating, which in turn causes quite the stir. Apparently, having a locked-up child sorcerer that is starving himself isn't an option, so the court physician is sent to check up on him. 

He's an elderly man named Gaius, and Merlin is highly suspicious of him in the beginning. Mostly because friendly adults that treat him with kindness are something he's never encountered before here in Camelot. But Gaius is different. He picks up on what exactly Merlin and Arthur were doing when they were caught and decides to bring the locked-up boy a book. Of course, Merlin recognizes the bribe for what it is, but he's still interested in the book. So he agrees to eat the soup and gets what he wants in return. It's the beginning of something new. After that Gaius becomes something like his advocate. He even convinces the king that Merlin should have some mental stimulation and be allowed a tutor.

It takes a while for that to happen though. In the meantime, the prince hasn't been idling about either. Arthur succeeds – probably through the sheer power of stubbornness – at getting official permission to come and visit Merlin at his cell door once a week for half an hour. Merlin still isn't entirely sure how he managed that.

However, despite being allowed to meet 'officially', it isn't the same as before. With the guards always present, listening and making sure the sorcerer makes no wrong move against the young prince, their talks never return to the carefree nature they used to have. It gives the whole thing a rather stilted quality, and Merlin begins – once again – to worry that Arthur won't be interested in that kind of exchange much longer.

It turns out he's seriously underestimated the prince though, as an unexpected nightly knock on his door comes to prove. He's already lying on his pallet when the soft sound makes him startle. He gets up and approaches the door with narrowed eyes.

"Arthur?" he whispers.

The latch is opened and a grinning prince revealed. He is tall enough now to see through the opening and his eyes twinkle with mischief. "Hey Merlin."

Merlin rushes over there. "What did you do to the guards? Are they still out there?" His eyes dart from one side to the other, desperately trying to spot them through the small opening.

Arthur chuckles and waves a dismissive hand. "Don't worry about it. During the night, there's only one of them here and I know his schedule now. He has a ladyfriend in the Lower Town that he likes to visit without anyone knowing about it, so he leaves during his shift for an hour or two." Arthur sounds smug, clearly very pleased with his investigative abilities. The smile he throws Merlin only underlines it.

"So, we're alone?"

Arthur nods. "Yes, were alone. We can talk about whatever we like."

It's the first of many nightly visits that follow.

*

Merlin smiles a bit to himself thinking about it. Arthur is due to come over again tonight. The guard, Armin, visits his ladyfriend on Tuesdays and Fridays. Sometimes on Thursdays too, but these are a bit hard to foresee, so Arthur normally stays away then. But still, with two unofficial and one official meeting per week, they're almost back to pre-discovery intervals. Merlin considers it a good deal.

The ruler hits him over the head and Merlin is brutally wrenched from his pleasant daydream. Master Osgood is staring at him with a reproachful glare, his arms folded over his chest and chin raised. "Where were you, boy?" he asks.

Merlin grimaces and can't help but rub the smarting spot.

Osgood sighs dramatically and shakes his head. "Educating you is like casting pearls before swine. I don't know why the king insists on it." He starts pacing again and Merlin rolls his eyes behind the tutor's back. Osgood is now going to start his frequently repeated rant on how his didactic talents are wasted on Merlin and he should be allowed to educate the prince instead. Merlin doesn't know why he isn't, but he and Arthur have talked about it several times that they have different tutors. Arthur complains about his too, how boring and old and out of touch with everything they are. Merlin obediently nods along but secretly suspects that Arthur's tutors aren't quite as bad as he makes them sound.

Osgood slams his hands on the table and Merlin flinches backwards in shock. His widened eyes fearfully trail upwards from the tutor's long, almost skeletal fingers to the raddled face. He has leant in and Merlin can smell his bad breath when he whispers dangerously, "ten blows."

*

Merlin rubs his palms. They still hurt a bit but it's not as bad as in the afternoon, the swelling and redness almost gone. He stretches his arms to see how much of his sleeves will cover the bruises. The result is disappointing because they only reach about the middle of his forearms these days – he's growing too fast, and nobody really bothers to regularly adjust his wardrobe.

Merlin sighs. He'd have preferred it if Arthur didn't see the proof of his renewed punishment, as it has been happening far too frequently over the last few months and the prince always seems quite upset about it. In all honesty though, Merlin mostly blames himself. He has a habit of spacing out and letting his thoughts wander to more pleasant places than boring lessons with stinky Master Osgood.

He chuckles a little and walks over to the stack of books. The second book from the bottom is his special hiding place where his letters and drawings are kept. His favourite drawing– courtesy of Arthur, by the way - depicts Merlin sitting at his desk with his writing utensils in hand while Osgood is standing next to him with the word _Blablabla_ written behind him. The scene itself is nothing special but the tutor's exaggerated features always make Merlin laugh. He likes the picture and sometimes just takes it out to look at it when he's feeling a bit low. He's drawn one for Arthur in return, but he doesn't think the price was all that impressed by it. Maybe because Merlin doesn't have any idea what Arthur's rooms or tutors look like. It's a thought he doesn't like to dwell on too much.

Thankfully though, that's the moment when the knock comes. He rushes over to the door and waves through the opening.

"You're late," he greets Arthur. To which the prince only scoffs and rolls his eyes.

He shoves something wrapped in cloth through the latch. "I brought you cake," he says in an almost bored tone.

Merlin's eyes widen. He never gets treats and unwraps the crumbling delicacy with unbridled enthusiasm. "Thank you so much," he spits, half the cake already in his mouth with some crumbs flying about. He chews and grins simultaneously, which makes Arthur roll his eyes even harder.  
  
It's a new phase of his, Merlin has noticed. The prince occasionally goes through them. Right now, it's the _you poor uncultured peasan_ t eye-roll. It doesn't particularly bother Merlin. The whistling through his teeth phase before was far worse. So, he just eats his cake in delight and let's Arthur have his snobby fit.

"-ow -id you -et -is?" he asks, then swallows when he sees the confused and somewhat disgusted expression on the prince's face. "How did you get this?" he repeats more emphasized.

Arthur shakes his head. "It's Morgana's birthday today. And, as you know, she's father's favourite, so she got like three different cakes." He makes a dismissive gesture with his hand, but Merlin can tell that it upsets Arthur more than he likes to admit.

"The more cake, the better," he comments somewhat unhelpfully but throws Arthur what he hopes is an encouraging smile. The prince just huffs, but then his gaze lands on Merlin's hands that are in the process of wiping some crumbs from his chin. His expression changes, and Merlin realizes his mistake.

"Did he hit you again?"

Merlin shrugs and doesn't answer. He so wanted to avoid that conversation, but the cake made him careless. Stupid! He’s far too easily distracted, no wonder he always ends up incurring Osgood's wrath.

"Answer me, Merlin. Why did he do it this time?" Arthur has stepped closer to the door, he looks alarmed. "He can't do this. I already told father, and he said…"

"Arthur, don't!" Merlin interrupts, then immediately regrets it. Arthur is looking at him with big eyes, waiting for an explanation and he really doesn't want to provide it. His face contorts into a grimace, but he knows he has to fess up now. So, he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and his shoulders slump. "Arthur, please don’t say anything. It only makes things worse."

The prince's eyebrows shoot up. "What do you mean?" His hands grip the opening's rim in barely concealed outrage. "He wasn't supposed to get back at you."

Merlin snorts. Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “What did you expect would happen?” Almost demonstratively he pops the last bit of cake in his mouth but avoids making eye contact with Arthur. “It’s not like anybody except you cares, so better leave it be.” That’s not entirely true, Merlin knows, because it’s a fact that Gaius has done a lot to make his situation better, he just can’t help with the irascible tutor – nor can Arthur, but the prince clearly isn’t used to not getting his way. Almost on cue, the latter's mouth opens. He wants to retort something but eventually has to realize there’s nothing to say.

So, there’s silence between them, heavy and deafening. It has Merlin wring his smarting hands. He doesn’t like fighting with Arthur, it makes him nervous and gives him a feeling of deep wrongness. Somewhat despondently he decides to ask: “Was the birthday party fun?”

Arthur looks at him with wariness, then sighs heavily and runs a hand through his messy blond hair. “It was ok, I guess.” He shrugs. “It was mostly adults, so they talked about really boring stuff like taxation and re-distribution of harvesting rights to the communal fields. But there were some games.”

Merlin's ears perk up, “What kind of games?” He's relieved that Arthur has accepted his offer of a different topic.

“Oh, just the usual. Blind man’s bluff, oh, and the jester told some riddles. Those were kind of fun.” Then, somewhat surprisingly, Arthur’s eyes light up. “One was really good, it went something like this: What is blue and traipses through water – The Moorgana Hen!” Arthur laughs and Merlin doesn’t get it. He restricts himself to a polite smile. It’s probably the lack of a reaction the urges Arthur to explain, “You see, it’s because she wore a blue dress with some feathers on it. It was really bird-y.”

Merlin nods again. He has no idea what Morgana looks like. By now, he’s heard quite a lot about her, and she sounds like a wilful and intriguing young woman. Arthur mentions her often, most of the time to complain about her though.

“Sounds like fun,” he offers placably. “Did she receive any presents?”

“Yeah, but just girly stuff, like combs and brooches.” Arthur sounds unimpressed, but then adds, “but I guess that new dress was pretty nice.” He lowers his eyes, and Merlin almost gets the impression that Arthur's blushing a bit. Well, that interesting.

“You mean the moorhen dress?”

“What? No?” Arthur exclaims indignantly. “The feather dress is ridiculous! No, I mean the new one she got as a present. It’s red and kind of,” he leans in and whispers conspiratorially, “low-cut.”

Merlin blinks. The confusion must be mirrored on his face because Arthur sighs dramatically. He starts gesturing. “She held it up in front of herself and you could see that the collar wouldn’t cover her…” once again his voice drops and his eyes dart from side to side almost as if he wants to make sure that no one else can hear him, “collarbones.”

Collarbones?

Merlin’s more confused than ever. Still, he says, “I see.” He doesn’t want Arthur to make another snide remark about him being too young for certain things. He did that a few times when Merlin failed to grasp the - apparently - hidden meaning of a story about fairies dancing barefoot in the fields that the prince had labelled 'risqué'.

Arthur rolls his eyes again. He clearly doesn’t believe Merlin.

*

The collarbone comment occupies Merlin’s thoughts even days afterwards. It has become the kind of obsession that makes him run his fingers over his own shirt-covered protrusions and wonder what’s so special about them. He really doesn’t see it. Maybe he is too young, the voice at the back of his head suggests, but Merlin ignores it. He may be younger than Arthur but he’s certainly not less mature. The prince is often so oblivious and caught up in his own world, there could hardly be a more naïve person than him.

Ha, _naïve_ , a good word! Merlin learnt it from a book. He likes it, even though the spelling is weird with the two dots.

But anyway, he’s certainly not more naïve than Arthur. He just doesn’t get out a lot – out of necessity, obviously - but it still annoys him when the prince says stuff like that. Doesn’t he realize that…

Merlin huffs in annoyance and the thought gets pushed back into the far reaches of his mind. This isn’t the time. He gets up and wanders over to his desk where the rest of his breakfast has been left. He ignores the gruel and instead grabs the cup filled with clear water. It’s the only reflecting surface in his cell, so he stares at his rippled reflection and wonders some more about collarbones. He undoes the knotted ribbon holding his collar together, but it doesn’t open far enough to reveal much of the skin underneath. He turns and stretches his neck, but whatever appeal Arthur sees there doesn’t present itself to Merlin. He leaves the ribbon undone.

Master Osgood comes by later, all fluttering robes and rigid haughtiness when he enters the circular cell and shoos Merlin to his desk. Usually, he barely looks at his pupil, more program than actual pedagogy, but today something is different. He pauses next to Merlin’s desk and takes a long hard look at the boy. “How are you dressed so sloppily? It’s a scandal!” His gaze rests on the slightly exposed collarbones and Merlin can feel an unpleasant shiver running down his spine. Instinctively his hands pull the collar together. Osgood harrumphs and mutters, “so indecent, these youngsters.”

Merlin doesn’t know what to make of that. The rest of the lesson progresses in its pretty normal, boring way, but the fact that the tutor reacted to this miniscule change in his wardrobe makes Merlin wonder if there really is something to collarbones. He decides to never leave his collar undone again.

This turns out to be another not particularly steadfast decision, because the next time Arthur visits his cell door, Merlin has made up his mind that the collarbone situation needs more exploration. So he leaves his collar open, just to see how Arthur reacts to it. Unfortunately, the prince doesn’t. His eyes slide over Merlin's appearance as if there's nothing unusual to it. Sure, the view through the hatch doesn't give you the best angle but he still should have noticed it. The whole encounter leaves Merlin puzzled, and a bit disappointed. He stops doing his collar up at all after that.

And while the prince failed to live up to his expectations in that area, something weird happens with Osgood. After the first disparaging remark about his negligent way of dressing, the tutor refrains from making any other comments and only ever shoots Merlin sharp looks. Which is very un-Osgood and should have rung the alarm bells in Merlin's head, but the boy, still too set in his claim that he's not naïve – or at least not as naïve as Arthur - doesn't feel like looking a gift horse in the mouth.

That's why it comes as a surprise when one day Osgood places one of his spindly hands on Merlin's shoulder. The boy stiffens. Master Osgood has never done that before and it's in every sense of the word _weird_. The circumstances are weird and most of all, it feels weird. The tutor has never made a secret of his dislike for sorcerers, so why would he touch Merlin now? The boy's eyes fly to the fingers that have dug into the soft flesh of his shoulder. He looks, but the hand doesn't move. If anything, its grip intensifies, taking on a kneading quality. Merlin has to fight against his face distorting into a grimace. He doesn’t like this, he really doesn’t. So he sits ramrod straight and tries to remember what exactly Osgood asked before … before the hand.  
  
But he doesn't, and Osgood seems to take that as an invitation to lean in. His face is far too close to Merlin's now, and he smiles in a deeply unsettling manner. "Tell me, boy, don't you think one should heed one's elders?"

The question doesn't make any sense. What was the context again? Did Merlin do something Osgood perceived as disrespectful? He opens his mouth and tries to formulate an answer, but it's too hard, especially with the hand that has now crept up to where normally the ribbon would hold the collar together. He swallows nervously and the movement causes his Adam's apple to bob against the fingers. He shudders and tries to lean away, propriety thrown to the wind.

"I don't think…" he stammers, but the sentence remains forever unfinished because Osgood's hand has now slid under his collar and is exploring the skin there. Merlin springs to his feet, the chair behind him clattering to the floor.

"What are you doing?!" His eyes are wide and he's backing away from the imposing tutor.

"Oh, don't play coy with me now, boy. Everybody knows that your lot has no morals, you throw yourselves at everybody who will have you." He's advancing on Merlin, and the boy doesn't know what to do. He is backed into the wall. There is no escape with Osgood coming closer and closer, a leer on his face.

Merlin's heart is hammering in his chest, panic having taken a hold of him. And then, everything slows down. The fluttering fabric of Osgood's long robes moves in slow-motion and the wolfish expression on his face is suddenly carved in stone. Merlin stares, a voiceless gasp coming over his lips, until everything accelerates again. The power surges through his veins, unbidden yet welcome, and the blast throws Osgood across the room, against the heavy wooden door. He goes down instantly and stays there like a puppet whose strings have been cut. Merlin observes in an almost detached manner how the guards storm in, take stock of the situation and then, unsurprisingly, direct their swords at him.

*

It's dark, so dark!

He's lying on his side in a foetal position, both hands covering his face and trying to hide from the all-encompassing darkness. They threw him into a cell one storey below his own. He's never been here before and he wishes to never be sent here again. It's absolutely terrifying! Violent shivers rock his body, and the sound of his sobs echoes off the walls. He can barely think straight.

At one point he must have passed out. It's still just as dark when he comes to, but the air feels heavy and as thick as molasses. He tries to get into a crawling position, but something is wrong, and he collapses back onto his side. His fingers trace the ground beneath him, hoping to find that calming coolness, but nothing…

Something is wrong. Something is wrong about this dark room. He feels so disorientated, it's like he can't properly tell what's up and what's down here, and he knows it's not just the dark that is messing with his senses. He tries to breathe slowly, but the air is too heavy - heavy and at the same time completely flavourless.

Something is wrong, deeply wrong. It blocks him and cuts him off from the world in a way he has never experienced before, despite his captivity. The realization makes his heart beat fast, it reverberates through his body, leaving him trembling and clutching his hands over his ears. He doesn't want to hear, but his heart doesn't relent, it beats and beats and beats. And the sound is haunting him until he screams to drown it out.

It's wrong. Everything is wrong. The room is wrong. And he feels exhausted. He wants to sleep but he can't because he doesn't know where's up and where's down. He doesn't know how big this cell is or if there's something else in here. Instinctively he knows there isn't, that he's alone in here is the whole point. Cut off from the world, forever forgotten and abandoned. Another tremor rocks his body, but there are no more tears left to cry.

He wonders if he's dead and this is the eternal damnation Osgood always promised his people. But no, those descriptions always involved flames and the pitiful souls of the deceased being tortured for their sins. He does feel like he's being tortured though, so he imagines the flames licking at the boundaries of this never-ending darkness and breaking through them with their light. It's an almost comforting thought, maybe dying wouldn't be so bad.

He exhales. He's so tired.

*

They release him he doesn't know how long after. His sense of time has completely evaporated. Was he in the room for an hour, a day or an eternity? He doesn't know.

They drag him upstairs into his own cell. Gaius is there waiting for him. The old man looks worried, but Merlin doesn't have the energy to speak. Instead, he just collapses on his pallet.

Gaius puts a wet cloth on his forehead. "How are you, my boy?" he asks gently. Merlin doesn't answer and turns his head away.

Times passes, and Gaius putters about his cell. Merlin knows that whatever the dark room did to him is over now, but he doesn't feel like he can get up. He's so drained. While he was in there his connection to the fabric of the world was cut, the eternal background hum of life silenced. It was absence, the lack of… everything.

He turns his back on Gaius, even though the physician is only trying to help. His carefully phrased comment about Osgood having three cracked rips and a concussion is registered with detachment, though the added information that the tutor won't be returning for Merlin's lessons does cause a sigh of relief. When Gaius places a well-meant hand on his shoulder, Merlin flinches. The desk is overturned and the books fly up a flurry. Gaius removes his hand immediately.

"Maybe I'm not the right person," the old man mutters more to himself.

Merlin doesn’t pay attention, he's too exhausted.

*

He didn't realize he fell asleep, but when he comes to again someone is holding his hand. Merlin blinks blearily at the ceiling, then turns his head. It takes him a moment to properly register who is sitting there next to his pallet before he shoots in an upright position. "Arthur!"

The prince pushes him back down and gestures behind him where two guards are at the ready to subdue the unruly sorcerer. Merlin goes easily. "You're here," he whispers. His voice is breaking, and tears are collecting in the corners of his eyes. He swallows convulsively, using his unoccupied hand to wipe them away.

Arthur shushes him. "Yes, don't worry," he says. His voice is gentle, but his eyes betray his own concern. He leans in and starts with an inquisitive "What…," only to stop and rethink it. He shakes his head and takes a deep breath. "How are you feeling?"

Merlin keeps his face turned away. He's so glad Arthur is here, but he can't bear to look at him right now. With a croaky voice he presses out, "not so good." It's accompanied by the sound of his sobbing. And for a moment the thought crosses his mind that this is the first time Arthur has ever been inside his cell.

The pressure around his hand increases and Merlin realises that Arthur has enfolded it with both of his own. He appreciates it, but he still can't stop the sobs that are shaking his body. He's crying openly now while Arthur holds his hand, which is simultaneously the best and the worst thing happening to him in a long time.

The prince doesn't say anything, he just lets Merlin feel he's there. So, they sit with their fingers intertwined until he has quietened down a bit. Eventually Arthur clears his throat. In a very careful tone he explains that the cell below is lined with cold iron. "I never quite understood what it meant or how it's supposed to be a weapon against sorcerers, but…" He doesn't need to say it, they both know, ' _it's become obvious with Merlin's reaction to it_ '.

He sniffs. The tears may have dried up, but Merlin's breathing is still erratic. In a small voice he says, "I couldn't see… I couldn't hear… I couldn't feel…" He stops and shakes his head, overcome by the memory. "It was like I was buried alive." He shudders.

Arthur tries to convey his support by squeezing the other boy's hand, searching for his gaze. Finally, Merlin turns his head. He looks at the prince with big pleading eyes. "Please. Can you make sure they don't send me there again?"

Arthur's eyes widen and he swallows heavily. They both know that's a promise he will never be able to keep. He nods anyway.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Third prompt: #G1 Knife Wounds"
> 
> Warning: horny teenagers😂

The squire looks nervous. Why the hell does the squire look nervous?! It's him the knives are being thrown at!

Merlin shifts his stance and keeps his hands up; he can't suppress an annoyed huff escaping his lips though. Most people are watching expectantly, but Arthur's features are marred by a deep frown. He's made repeatedly clear that he doesn't approve of these training sessions.

"Now, go for it!" the instructor yells, and the dagger comes flying.

Merlin deflects it with a wave of his hand and sends it clattering to the ground. The squire on the other side of the field visibly exhales. There's some timid applause.

"Well done, boy!" the instructor lands a heavy hand on his back that shakes Merlin's scrawny frame. His name is Bors and despite being the tough love kind of man, he actually encourages Merlin's progress. He does it in a booming voice and by having people throw sharp objects at him, but at least Merlin's allowed to practice some magic this way. It's combat orientated, of course, supposed to make him an asset for Camelot's troops, but it's better than nothing.

The people disperse and Arthur walks up to him. He hands him a towel. Merlin appreciates the gesture although magic practise isn't strenuous in the same way swordplay is. He still mutters a "thanks" and wipes his face in a perfunctory manner while his eyes quickly scan the arbalists on the parapet. They have their crossbows at the ready – always – to make sure he stays in line.

Arthur follows his line of sight, then grabs Merlin's upper-arm and turns them both around. Merlin used to consider that a bold move, turning their backs on a potential enemy. Because, for all intents and purposes, it goes against everything Bors has been trying to teach him for the last three years. But by now he knows they won't shoot – or at least not as long as Arthur is standing that close to him.

He gives the prince a lopsided grin. They've had this conversation before, so it's not hard to guess what's on his mind. Arthur returns it. They stroll over to the big stairs and sink down. The arbalists' ever watchful eyes are still on them, but that's normal so they don't let it bother them.

"You looking forward to the celebration?" Merlin asks.

Arthur, who's more lounging than sitting on the stairs, shrugs. "Peace talks are all well and good, but the three-day festival is unnecessary if you ask me." He grabs an apple from somewhere and takes a bite. Merlin's eyes follow the movement.

"You're just sore princess Ainsley turned out to be prince Ainsley," he teases and adds with a chuckle, "he is pretty handsome though."

Arthur grimaces and elbows Merlin. "Don't you start too. Father's already looking for potential marriage candidates. I'm so glad he won't have any success with the Anglians."

Merlin snickers, then his gaze drifts back up to the arbalists and his expression turns pensive. "Do you remember that fairy tale you used to read me?"

Arthur sits up straighter. "Which one do you mean?" They both know he's completely aware which story Merlin means.

Merlin humours him anyway. "The one about the princess in the tower. We never finished it. I think we stopped at the point where the knight-"

"Prince," Arthur corrects.

Merlin raises an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure it's a knight." He's actually completely sure because he looked the story up. "Anyway, I think we stopped where he's climbing the tower."

"And why is that important now?" Arthur sounds mildly irritated.

"Because I'm wondering if you want to save a princess."

"Why in the world would I want to save a princess?" Arthur is getting back to his feet. He brushes dirt from his trousers but it can't hide the fact that he seems uncomfortable. "Besides, it's only a story. Why are you asking me about this?"

Merlin squints up at the prince who's backlit by the afternoon sun. He shrugs. "No particular reason. I just remembered it because we were talking about winning over princesses."

"We weren't." Arthur shakes his head and throws Merlin the bitten apple. "Here, you can have the rest. I have to attend the hearings now."

And with that, he's taken off, ascending the stairs with loud steps. Merlin's gaze follows him.

*

These days, he's occasionally allowed to visit the library. Mind, with four guards in tow – which is excessive – who are trailing him with clonking steps, which in turn annoys Geoffrey, the librarian. That, however, is a tiny bit funny because Geoffrey's such a curmudgeon. He finds something to criticize about every single book Merlin returns. 'You dog-eared the pages' – Merlin would never! 'The spine looks more battered now' – all the spines look battered! And the most outrageous one: 'You made notes in the margins' – Never ever! He values the books, they are his companions! His indignant protests remain unheard though, so Merlin has restricted himself to an annoyed eyeroll and delighting in the librarian's small grievances. It's a petty little world.

He rounds the corner and enters one of the aisles. His guards stop there, not all that interested in following him into the narrow, dusty space. They keep their eyes on him, of course, but it's not like Merlin could run anywhere. So he ignores them, as he always does, and goes through the rows and rows of venerable books. He grabs one and pulls it out of the shelf. It drags another one along with it, which plummets to the ground and kicks up a whole cloud of dust. Merlin coughs a bit and waves a hand in front of his face. It doesn't help.

He wants to get the fallen book but stops in the middle of the movement, his eyes glued to the pages that have opened. His eyes rove over the pictures.

That's really not what he expected.

Somewhat warily he takes the rather thick tome and turns it, so he can read the title on its spine. "Anthology of Alpine Fauna". His forehead creases. Well, the pictures don't look very Alpine, nor are they depicting animals, for that matter. He throws a careful look in the guards' direction, but they are busy with their own conversations, the closest one cleaning his fingernails with a dagger. Merlin is tempted to grimace, but the book is more interesting at the moment.

He turns the pages, so he's at the beginning. He can't decipher the font or what language it is in, but the pictures say everything that needs to be understood. It's about people, couples to be precise, in all kinds of positions. He leans in and feels heat rise in his body. He should maybe also mention that the people are very naked. Merlin swallows and turns to the next page. The drawings aren't all that detailed, but he recognizes the half-circles as breasts and the cylindrical object as a prick. His hands are a bit unsteady when he turns the page again.

The positions these people are depicted in are really quite varied. He didn't think most of them possible, but then his knowledge on this kind of topic is rather limited. Gaius gave him a super awkward run-down of the essentials a few months after the unfortunate incident with Osgood, but Merlin wasn't all that interested in it back then. Right now, he kind of regrets it. Because this doesn't make sense. He stares intently at the depiction of a couple that has the female figure on top, but her head of positioned above the male figure's crotch area while the male has his head under hers. It's a weird inversion, and how does that even work? Doesn't the thing need to go into…?

He has so many questions, his head swims a bit.

"Are you nearly done, boy?" One of the guards calls over, not really looking up from what he's doing. Merlin almost drops the book in shock and hastens to say "yes, yes." He puts 'Alpine Fauna' back, his hands so shaky, he can barely slot it into its appropriate spot, and then grabs the book he originally came to get.

The Alpine Fauna, as with so many other of his obsessions, doesn't let him go. He keeps thinking about the pictures when he's returned to his cell, and the weird people in their impossible positions pop up before his inner eye when he's trying to fall asleep. So, a few days later he returns to the library. He doesn't dare to go directly to the book and instead makes a show of browsing through the rows until he finally settles on something in the vicinity of Alpine Fauna. Then, when he's certain Geoffrey and the guards are adequately distracted with their own things, he pulls it out of the shelf again. He doesn't return to page where he left off, but just opens it randomly and takes in whatever he sees there. Couples, individuals, close-up drawings of certain body parts – well, mostly pretty private body parts. Merlin can feel how his cheeks colour but can't draw his eyes away. He needs to see it all!

Eventually, he comes to the conclusion that he wants to take the book with him and study it in the relative privacy of his cell. But then there's Geoffrey. The librarian forms quite the obstacle because Merlin doesn't know if he's aware of the book's real contents. And the idea that he could catch him in the attempt to check it out is mortifying. It doesn't diminish his desire for it though.

Merlin bites his knuckles and wars with himself. Embarrassment or Engagement? His shoulders are tense, and he throws another look at the bored guards. Then, he takes a deep breath and decides his mind is made up. He'll risk it. He carries the book over to Geoffrey's desk and drops in there with a loud noise. It's a bit of a habit of his to annoy the librarian and breaking it would only make him look more suspicious. Geoffrey looks up, his brows already drawn, and shoots Merlin a dirty look before his attention returns to the book in front of him. His eyes scan the title, but he gives no indication of being in any way aware of what kind of book the teenage sorcerer is trying to check out. He scribbles down a note and then says in his usual condescending tone: "You need to be more careful with them, otherwise I seem myself forced to file a complaint about your negligence with the king."

Merlin nods dutifully. He's heard that threat so many times before, it really doesn't impress him anymore. He still can't help the shaking of his hands when he takes the book from Geoffrey's desk, presses it to his chest and hurries out of the library.

*

Merlin has read romances, quite a few of them actually. They are a bit of a guilty pleasure and not something he'd ever admit to Arthur, but he enjoys them. Despite this well-founded knowledge, none of the stories he's read has ever bothered to elaborate on what happens after the 'and they lived happily ever after'. Most romances end with a marriage, he gets that, but with Alpine Fauna around he now feels that all of them lack in the wedding night department, which would be rather important information.

Merlin's cheeks heat up and he turns another page, his eyes pre-emptively darting to the door of his cell. The chances of anyone coming in unannounced are low, but the idea that the latch could be opened and he caught in his …reading session…. is still highly disturbing.

Alpine Fauna is illuminating. He doesn't understand everything that is going on, and some of the positions seem downright impossible without some serious acrobatic skills, but he enjoys studying the pictures nonetheless. Well, studying might not be the entirely appropriate words, it's more like he devours the idea behind them and turns them into life-like facsimiles in his head. While the male figures never pose much of a problem and are instantly rendered into the physical depictions of anonymous young men, the female figures require a bit more of a mental effort. Merlin explains it with just not knowing all that many young women. All the people in his life are male and the only women he sees are the occasional servant girls that normally try to get out of his line of sight as fast as possible. He sighs. He just doesn't have any experience with… breasts… or any other female things.

His gaze lingers on the full body drawing of a woman. There are some explanations in the language he can't read, all nicely presented with arrows and circles that highlight certain parts of her anatomy. Merlin's eyes flit to the crotch area. It's not like he's completely clueless. He knows how women are built, in theory, and what goes where when you … you know. But in reality, he's ever seen a naked woman, except for his mother and that was years ago.

It makes him feel a bit inadequate; also, because Arthur only recently told him another story that was supposed to be on the raunchier side. It went something like this: The prince rode out with the knights and they came across a young woman that was drowning in a river. Arthur, hero that he is, didn't hesitate to jump in and rescue the girl. He pulled her out while she clung to him, her body shivering, and her ample bosom pressed against his shining armour. Merlin has some doubts about the tale's truthfulness, but he wasn't unappreciative of the description of how the darker buds of the girl's breast shone through the wet fabric of her bodice and the contours of her hips were highlighted by every swaying movement. Merlin doubts and at the same time envies these stories.

Now, however, it seems he has a story of his own. He grins before his eyes return to the page. Next to the full body depiction of the woman there's a close-up of a very specific area of her body. Merlin studies it, and this time studying is the right word because it doesn't elicit the same reaction of tightly coiled heat underneath his skin as the other pictures did. It's more something akin to scientific interest, like when he studies a book about medicine or natural history. His fingers trace the oval shape in the picture, and he wonders what it reminds him of. A weird flower? There are folds and layers, but that doesn't seem an entirely accurate comparison. A shell, perhaps? He shakes his head. Maybe it's just what it is, and he has to accept that he knows far too little about women.

Sometimes Merlin wonders if Arthur knows more or has really seen this female flower-shell organ up close. The prince would probably claim yes and boast about his various exploits, but they both know these stories are about as real as the fair maiden in the river.

He hasn't told Arthur about the book yet. So far, he didn't get the chance, but he's also not sure if it isn't something he'd rather keep for himself. The prince can go outside and interact with people, and as such has the chance to discover real flower-shells (even though that doesn't seem to be going all that well) and whatever else he might be interested in. Merlin, on the other hand, only has his books. It makes him feel a bit possessive of this little secret.

Merlin turns the page again to get to the display of the male equivalent. The presentation follows the same pattern as with the woman, there's a full body image and then a close-up of the crotch area. Merlin swallows. Weirdly enough, looking at the male physiology, which he's certainly more familiar with, leaves him with of a knot in his stomach. There's also the notable difference that the male member is depicted in both its flaccid and its roused state.

Merlin can feel his cheeks heat up. That's something he knows about because he too has woken up with… He doesn't finish the thought, but he knows about it. And he knows how it feels.

He still remembers the mortifying experience when Arthur barged into his cell one morning, proclaiming that he was here to get Merlin for a training session in the courtyard. The whole training with Bors and the knights had been rather new at that point and it would never have occurred to Merlin that the prince could turn up that early in the morning to drag him outside. So, the tent in his trousers and a Merlin that was still rubbing sleep from his eyes, elicited some raucous laughter from the prince and the teasing comment that the asparagus was growing in the morning, which was really the weirdest euphemism ever, and didn't alleviate Merlin's humiliation at all.

Since then, he's made sure to get up earlier to avoid a repeat performance of that incident. But that doesn't mean he doesn't sometimes think back to the moment when Arthur's gaze was glued to his crotch, informing him, without being able to tear his eyes away, that he was expected to join them outside. It makes him wonder how the prince wakes up in the morning. Probably plagued by asparagus too.

Merlin huffs and shakes his head at himself. His cheeks are still tinged with red. The book in front of him describes the different parts of the male organ like it did with the female parts. It's really a pity he can't read it. He's sure it would've been highly informative. His gaze wanders to one of the lines that highlights the area behind the ball sac. There's a rather long text that has Merlin crease his forehead. What's so special about that area? It's not something he ever considered noteworthy and he's tried the, you know, touching thing. Merlin clears his throat even though there' nobody there and shelves the thought for later.

He's already about to turn the page when a knock on his door comes. Almost frantically he throws the covers over Alpine Fauna and gets in a sitting position on his pallet. The door remains closed though and the latch is opened instead. It's Arthur. He's wearing a serious expression.

"Can you come to the door?" the prince asks. Merlin frowns. He's not all that eager to get up, for obvious reasons, but Arthur's downturned mouth is enough to convince him that this is probably something he needs to pay attention to. He walks over to the door as dignified as possible, but the prince doesn't even seem to notice.

"Merlin, you are required to come down tonight and attend the feast."

Merlin's eyebrows shoot up. That's most certainly not what he expected. King Alfred and his men have been in Camelot for two weeks now and the festival is supposed to mark the highlight of the successful peace talks between the kingdoms and Camelot and Anglia. And that he, Uther's hostage – the boy sorcerer from the tower – is supposed to attend is in every sense of the word unprecedented.

"Why?" He asks tentatively.

Arthur shrugs. It's clear that he finds this exchange very unpleasant. "I think the king wants you to perform."

Arthur said 'the king', not 'my father', and that's something he only does when he doesn't agree with Uther, Merlin has learnt. "So what does he expect? Sparks? Flying dishes?" Merlin chuckles to gloss over his nervousness. He's never been asked to perform for an audience before. Hell, he's never even been to a feast before! Something tells him this isn't going to end well.

"Battle magic," Arthur says gravely.

"At a feast?!" Merlin's voice has taken on a rather squeaky quality. "That's crazy! Someone could get hurt." He looks at Arthur imploringly, but the prince only shakes his head.

"I agree, but the decision has been made. So better try to come up with something that won't bring half the hall down on us."

A voice sounds up the staircase Arthur's head turns. "I have to leave now," he says urgently. "I just wanted to give you the heads-up." He nods at Merlin and then he's off again.

*

Merlin thinks about it. The announcement has effectively killed any kind of mood he may or may not have been in and Alpine Fauna lies forgotten under the covers. Instead, Merlin is poring over one of the magic books Gaius has given him. Of course, it's no real magic book with spells or anything, the king would never allow that. It's more a work on magical theory. He has others that could be considered history books that elaborate on the ban on magic and the atrocities performed by sorcerers. For now though, Merlin is merely looking for inspiration. What would impress a bunch of stuck-up nobles, without coming across as too threatening?

He considers fireworks but discards the idea quickly. That one attempt when he tried it indoors and set half his cell afire was lesson enough. Merlin shudders at the thought. The guard on duty wouldn't let him out even though the smoke development was already pushing through the crack under his door. In the end, the only things that saved him from a fiery death was the fact that it had been a rainy day outside and he was able to summon water through his window. He was required to sleep on the hard floor for weeks afterwards until the king finally deemed it appropriate to give him some new furniture.

So no, fire in any form is out. It gives him an idea though. Fire might be bad, but water isn't…

*

Merlin feels rather satisfied with his little show of waterworks. He makes the drinks on people's goblets rise up in beautiful arches and spirals, jump from vessel to vessel with sounding splashes but never actually spilling a single drop. It amuses the guests and even garners him some applause. Merlin smiles a little and bows. He hopes it's enough to satisfy the king, even if it wasn't battle magic in the traditional sense.

Uther regards him with a cold look, his index finger rubbing his chin, while next to him king Alfred says something Merlin can't make out from the far end of the hall. Uther has always scared him, since the very beginning. He's this figure in Merlin's head that rules over Camelot with iron fist, prosecutes sorcerers for the slightest infractions and abducts children with magical talent. He has never said anything of this to Arthur. Despite occasionally disagreeing with him, the prince idolizes his father. So, Merlin stands there, suppressing the shiver this icy stare has running down his spine, and hopes he'll be allowed to leave and return to his tower.

The king gets up, and oh, that's not a good sign. Merlin balls his hands to fists. Uther waves and one of the side doors opens. Two servants carry a big round board in that has a hairline cross painted in the middle. Merlin takes a deep breath and tries to will his frantic heartbeat to calm down. It can't be as bad as it looks…

But it is, because Uther comes over and gestures at the board and by proxy at Merlin. "Ladies and Gentlemen, you just had the pleasure and the privilege to sample some of our young sorcerer's talents- " Merlin bristles at the word _our_ but schools his features into indifference, "but the really important question is, of course, how these powers can be harnessed for good."

Uther smiles a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. The two servants take position to the right and left side of the king, each holding a tray with daggers on them. And it dawns on Merlin that he's most certainly not going to be allowed to return to his tower. He can't help but shoot Arthur a desperate look, but the prince's expression doesn't give anything away.

"Prince Ainsley," Uther says, "you are proficiently skilled with the knife I presume." Ironically, it's king Alfred who nods while the prince looks somewhat dubiously at the trays with the daggers.

"To honour and celebrate the newly-found peace between Camelot and Anglia I challenge you to a friendly contest between you and my son Arthur."

Arthur's shoulders stiffen, clearly having been as unaware as the other prince of that plan.

"Whoever succeeds at landing a hit on our sorcerer is the victor!" The audience applauds while Merlin's thoughts reel. Whoever lands a hit? With a dagger?! He feels himself panicking. He looks at Arthur again, but the prince's gaze is now focused on the king. The guards start ushering him in front of the board, and Merlin sees the unwillingness in the foreign prince's features. He fears though it isn't so much because he'll be throwing sharp objects at another human being but rather because he worries about making a fool of himself. According to what Arthur said – and that should always be taken with a grain of salt – Ainsley isn't half as proficient as Uther so generously proclaimed.

Merlin swallows, his palms are sweaty now. He tries to make eye-contact with the young man, but Ainsley is making a show out of studying the knives, turning them in his hands. Then he slowly moves in a position about five meters away from him, and Merlin already cringes internally. That's too far, he won't even get the knife to stick in the board like this. Still, he raises his hands and hopes for the best.

Uther gives the signal, and the first dagger comes flying. Merlin's eyes light up, time slows, he sees it mid-rotation and realises it's so far off, it won't even land on the board. He makes a show of waving a hand and pretending he deflected it when it eventually clatters to the floor. There's some gasping from the audience and prince Ainsley frowns. Merlin wonders if he knows.

The second dagger's trajectory is better. Still not good enough to hit Merlin and completely off with its rotation, but he waves and ducks for good measure. The third dagger is of a similarly bad quality, and the fourth dagger almost lands in the audience when Merlin finally makes a real effort to deflect it. Really, what is Uther thinking holding a knife throwing competition inside? 

By now, the king's looking rather aggravated and Merlin's not sure if he realised his error in judgement or if it's more the outcome of this competition that's not to his liking. His cold eyes search Merlin's and the look in them is murderous. The index finger that's often so artfully placed on his chin moves up and draws a deliberate line over his cheek, and Merlin understands. He swallows nervously and lets the last dagger come. The height's not bad, so Merlin steps in the trajectory and lets it grazes his cheek. It ends up sticking in the board right next to his ear with a definitive thud, and shocked widening of his eyes isn't even faked. The hall erupts in enthusiastic applause while a small trickle of blood runs down Merlin's face. Prince Ainsley looks pleased with himself and smiles a little when his father pats him on the back.

However, the real show starts now because it's finally Arthur's turn. He gets up and his face already betrays how extremely displeased he is. He takes the five-meter mark too. He has to, even though he's obviously aware that this is a bad distance for knife throwing. He lifts the dagger and takes aim.

Time doesn't slow down and Merlin's almost surprised when hears the sound of the dagger's blade boring into the board. He stands there, rooted to the spot, and stares at Arthur. The thing with the time slowing down is weird. It doesn't always happen, and Merlin's control over that ability is limited. So far, he's established that it only occurs when he's in actual danger. That it didn't happen with Arthur now suggests that he wasn't in any danger… or that his perception of Arthur is deeply distorted - which is a possibility, he has to admit.

There's silence in the hall, the audience apparently confused by what to make of Merlin's non-reaction, until finally someone calls, "Oh, that was a fluke, the boy wasn't ready."

There's some nodding and one of the servants makes a move to pull the dagger from the board and return it to Arthur, but the prince raises his hand, signalling that it's unnecessary. Leisurely he strolls over to Merlin who's standing ramrod straight. Arthur's hand goes over his shoulder and grabs the hilt. He jiggles it up and down and whispers almost inaudible, "where?".

Merlin avoids looking at the prince but breaths a similarly low "leg". Arthur nods imperceptibly and gets back in his original position. He looks more determined now. The next dagger misses him too, but Merlin succeeds at making it look like he did indeed deflect it. It goes until the fourth. It's the glint in Arthur's eyes that tells him everything he needs to know. The dagger comes flying, unusually low and pierces his flesh. Merlin whimpers in pain, falls to his knees and the crowd erupts in cheers.

With tears in his eyes, he sees Uther raising Arthur's arm in victory and proclaiming him the winner. Prince Ainsley and king Alfred are clapping too but their expressions look much more strained. After that, Merlin gets a bit woozy. Someone grabs his upper-arm and starts dragging him from the hall.

*

He's not entirely sure how he makes it back to the tower, but when he becomes a bit clearer in the head again, he's lying on his pallet and Gaius is sitting next to him. The old man informs him that he lost a lot of blood but that it has been staunched now and he should take it easy for the next few days. A knock on the door comes and Arthur enters. Gaius throws the prince a reproachful glare and Merlin notices how the young man falters under it. He chuckles. It's funny that Gaius can cow even a prince of Camelot. That in turn makes the physician raise an eyebrow.

"Well, you seem to be feeling better." His stern gaze alternates between the two of them. "You're lucky the artery wasn't severed. A few centimetres more to the left and this could have killed you." It's not entirely clear who he is talking too, but Merlin still nods obediently, and Arthur ducks his head.

Gaius throws them a last look before he leaves. It's warning enough. After he's gone Arthur is just standing there with his arms folded over his chest, looking sheepish. Eventually he sighs and asks, "how are you feeling?"

"My leg hurts," Merlin deadpans.

Arthur smacks his shoulder. "Seriously. It was you who told me to aim for the leg." He finally sits down on Gaius' vacated chair.

"Yes, I know. Because I need my arms more than my legs. It still hurts though."

Silence falls, until Arthur mumbles an awkward, "I'm sorry."

"I'm not blaming you," Merlin says and turns his head in the prince's direction. He extends his hand and offers it to Arthur. The prince hesitates, probably out of some convoluted reason like it being unmanly, but then takes it. "Was your father satisfied with the outcome?"

Arthur nods. "Yes, I think he achieved want he wanted to achieve."

"Showing off Camelot's pet sorcerer and at the same time demonstrating the superiority of its non-magical forces?"

It's a purely rhetoric question, so Arthur forgoes an answer. His gaze is trained on their intertwined hands. "I'm really sorry," he says again.

Merlin nods. "I know." After a pause he adds, "the story about the princess in the tower, do you know how it ends?"

Arthur frowns, clearly not quite following. "She gets saved, obviously. What do you-"

"If she gets saved," Merlin interrupts, "do you think I could get saved too? After all, this is a tower and you are a prince." He looks at Arthur with shining eyes, and the prince bites his lip, visibly conflicted.

"It's just a story for children," he hedges, but the grip on his hand intensifies. He tears his gaze away, not able to bear looking at Merlin. "You're not a princess, Merlin. You're a sorcerer." 

He let's go of the other boy's hand.

TBC


End file.
